Clandestine
by Morning Rescue
Summary: Pokemon training has been deemed illegal in Hoenn, and all Damian wants to do is travel around the region. Things, of course, are hardly going to be that easy.
1. Prologue

ANNOUNCEMENT FROM IPT:

POKÉMON TRAINING HAS BEEN DEEMED ILLEGAL

ANYONE CAUGHT TRAINING POKÉMON WILL BE FINED AND JAILED

AND HAVE THEIR POKÉMON TAKEN FROM THEM

On the order of MATTHEW GALLAGHER, CEO of IPT

No one knew exactly how it had happened. Three years ago, IPT ([b]I[/b]llegalize [b]P[/b]okémon [b]T[/b]raining) was seen as nothing more than something to laugh at. Pokémon training had been the tradition for generations, and the region was very stuck in tradition.

Eventually, though, things changed. It wasn't a change in the way training had worked, but a change in the way people reacted to trainers. Suddenly, the occasional death of a trainer or the death of a Pokémon wasn't just 'the way things worked' – it was horrific and terrible. "How could this have been going on for so long?" people would ask, concerned parents and guardians of the would-be trainers, older trainers ("In my day, training was nothing like this! It was safe! Why, you couldn't wander five feet without finding someone willing to help you…"), and those who had never liked the practice of training, for whatever reasons.

Their first measure had been to raise the training age up to 13 – surely teenagers would have a bit more common sense than unruly pre-teens. When a child had died thanks to Beedrills, they changed it to 15. And by 15, most teenagers' interest in Pokémon had waned, replaced by other things – video games and social lives. Why would they want to leave their lives behind just to go trekking in the wilderness, living in harsh and unforgiving terrain, with no humans for company?

It came as no surprise when the first gym closed down. Since there weren't any trainers starting it, it was judged superfluous and removed from the circuit. The later gyms fared better for a time – people already trainers who needed the later badges would come and challenge them. But eventually they would receive all the badges they needed as well, and thus even the last few gyms were closed.

The Elite Four and Champion, the former gym leaders, and those in training over five years were given permission to keep their Pokémon as fighters – every so often a wild Pokémon, a Gyarados or a Rhydon, would go rogue, and they would need to be called in.

The rest of the trainers were forced to retire, settle down wherever they like. They could even keep their Pokémon as pets if they liked, but many had no space for some of their larger Pokémon and they were released into the wild.

When IPT made their announcement, no one made a move to stop them, because training had become obsolete. There were still some radicals who started 'training' – a bastardization of the original, made up of the remnants of the original league and trainer sympathizers. They remain underground.

This story begins with a fresh start.


	2. Chapter One

"Damian!" Mom calls. "You can come out of the moving truck now." Damian yawns, stretching – he's been cooped up with their belongings all day, and it hasn't been a particularly pleasant nor comfortable journey. He stands, hopping out of the truck. The sun is bright and pounding, and after the dark journey he has to blink several times before being able to see. What he sees disappoints him, but he isn't surprised.

"Isn't this town so lovely and quaint? It's just the place we need, I think," his mom says. "Look, there's a house next door to us – we should probably introduce ourselves. Why don't you go over and do that while I help the Machoke set up the house?"

It isn't anything worth arguing about, so Damian just kicks his heels a little and complies. It's a short walk to the other house, and he knocks on the door.

"Oh, hello! You must have just moved in. I'm Ms. Birch. It's nice to meet you," says the lady who is undoubtedly Ms. Birch. "You look about the same age as my daughter May; you should go meet her, she's a nice young lady, she's just upstairs, in fact. I'm sure you'll get along splendidly. Why, in fact, just yesterday she was talking about how boring it is here and how nice it would be if…"

Damian tunes out Ms. Birch's monologue and goes upstairs.

Once he gets there, he finds the aforementioned May playing with a Mudkip, who's chasing a string. He watches for a moment before the Mudkip recognizes his presence and stops playing, alerting May.

"Oh!" May says, pressing her hand to her heart. "You startled me. You just moved in right? That's awesome. I've wanted someone my age to talk to, and here you are! This is so nice. Oh, I'm May, by the way. What's your name?"

"It's Damian. It's nice to meet you," Damian says. He's distracted, looking around at May's room – there's an awful lot of Pokémon merchandise placed around as decorations. "Do you train?"

"Sorry?" May says. "Train what?"

"Fleas for a morbid circus – Pokémon, what else?"

"I – no, of course not! In case you haven't been keeping up with the news – that's illegal now! I would never go against the law," May says. Her cheeks are flushed; a spot of color has appeared high on each.

"Alright, then," Damian says. "I was just interested. You seem to dote on that Mudkip a lot."

"Oh, you noticed? Muddy's my baby. I take him with me everywhere. But he's just a pet – I'd never train!"

"Alright, then," Damian says. "As I says – it was nice to meet you. We'll probably be seeing each other again. I should go help my mom unpack."

With that, he leaves, intending to go home – but he gets distracted. A man with a white coat on is lurking near the outskirts of the village (the fact that he can see them is disheartening. What kind of a shithole have they moved to?) and he seems to be protecting something, from the way his coat bulges.

"Hey, you!" Damian says, holding to the time-honored tradition of what to do when you want a stranger's attention.

It doesn't work.

The stranger bolts when he hears he's being addressed, right on out into Route 101. Damian hears a pained scream about a minute after the stranger leaves – he looks around quickly to see if there's anyone else outside, but he's the only person there.

"The hell with it," he mutters, jogging out to Route 101 to see what's happening.

"What kind of trouble have you gotten into -," he breaks off as he notices the Poochyena attacking the stranger. "Aren't those supposed to be docile?"

"I can deal with it!" the stranger says. Judging from the way he's bleeding, Damian doubts it. It isn't anything very serious, but he should still go to a hospital, Damian decides. He sees the stranger's leather bag – must've been what he was carrying under his coat – and decides to take a look inside it to see if there's anything he can use against the Poochyena. A rock would undoubtedly get its attention, but he'd much rather have it mauling a stranger than him. He roots through the bag quickly, gasping when he feels a familiar shape – the spherical form of a Pokeball, down to the ridges.

"Well, well," he says. "No wonder. Might as well save your sorry ass, I'd like an explanation and can't get one if you're dead."

"Fuck you," the man says. The Poochyena has been temporarily distracted by Damian's bag-looting – it stood around in confusion, not sure which person to attack.

Damian decides that was enough and throws the Pokeball. A Cyndaquil emerges, chirping its cry for the world to hear, its flames burning high on its back.

Damian whistles. "Would you look at that. Looks like you've got some secrets, old man. Cyndaquil – tackle that Poochyena."

The Cyndaquil obeys, ramming into the Poochyena with enough force to snap a rib or two – and Damian hears at least one break. The Poochyena whines in pain, moving backwards, its ears pricked and growling as it retreats back into the bushes.

"What the hell took you so long?" the stranger says. He had slowly picked himself up after Damian had called out the Cyndaquil.

"Why do you have such a rare Pokemon with you? Why do you have Pokeballs at all? And you're hurt – I'd much rather get you to a hospital than leave you here bleeding, but, you know, I'm not opposed to the second option either."

The stranger grunts, holding his side. "Was going to sell them in Oldale's black market. Underground training. Now help me to a hospital."

"I get to keep the Cyndaquil," Damian says. It isn't a request. "I've got his ball, and I've got his respect. That's all I need."

"Hell no – do you know what Cyndaquil sell for? Rare little beasts. You can have him until we get to Oldale."

"Old man, that's all of twenty miles. No. Littleroot's right there – you can make it yourself. I'll be taking the Cyndaquil. I've missed training."

"I – I can't go to Littleroot. Fine. Take the fucking Cyndaquil. Get me to Oldale," the stranger says.

"Good! I'm glad we have a deal. I'd ask you why you can't go to Littleroot, but I can't say I particularly care. I'll keep Toro out, I'm sure the 'mons on this route can smell your blood."

They proceed that way – Damian, the Cyndaquil by his side, the old man cursing occasionally. His wound's been temporarily patched with ripped strips of his white coat. It isn't anything fancy, but it should hold to Oldale. Damian's right – a few wild Pokemon attack them on their way. Toro manages to defeat them, but he tires after a bit. Damian digs in his jacket pocket and finds an old Potion, a relic from Sinnoh, and heals him. Eventually, the sorry party reaches Oldale. Before they enter the town proper, Damian takes Toro's ball and calls him back in, hiding the ball in his shorts pocket. Luckily, it doesn't bulge.

"Alright, old man. Let's get you to the hospital."

It's a rather easy journey after that – they enter the lobby, tell the attendant a Poochyena had mauled him; they had fought it off with a large stick, etc. The old man is seen by a doctor immediately, given stitches, and patched up.

"Do you know him?" the attendant asks Damian, who's sitting in the lobby, waiting to talk to the old man. He's phoned his mother and told her of his absence.

"No – I just was going for a walk, and I saw him there…I was concerned, and still am, so I figured I should wait around to see if he's alright," Damian says, giving the nurse a smile.

The doctor comes into the waiting room after about half an hour. "Okay, folks!" he says. "Mr. Oak is all stitched up. Are you waiting for him, son? He's really fine – just shouldn't do anything strenuous, or else he'll pop his stitches!" The doctor seems to think this was a hilarious state of affairs, and laughs at his own remarks. "Off you go, then."

Damian waits for the man (he doubts Mr. Oak is his name) and then they were on their way. The man's leading the way, presumably towards Oldale's black market. It's a longer walk than Damian had anticipated – apparently Oldale has grown considerably in the past decade or so – and he finds himself growing bored.

"What's your real name, old man? It's definitely not Mr. Oak. And how did you get your hands on those 'mons?"

The man glares at Damian. "Don't see why I should tell you anything."

"You should tell me because I can still turn you in to the authorities," Damian says. "Sure, you'll try to say I'm guilty too because I've got Toro's ball on me, but I can just play the innocent bystander card. They'll believe me over you, you know – I'm young, I can make myself pathetic. You're older and you smell homeless."

The man concedes. "My name is Birch. I was a professor, back when there were such things. That's where I got the Pokemon from – I kept them. I sell them every so often when I need to money. Happy?"

"You wouldn't be related to the Birches back in Littleroot, would you? The daughter has a Mudkip, which, if I'm not mistaken, was a starter 'mon like Cyndaquil," Damian says.

"I – yes. May's my daughter. I was k – I left two years ago. I've tried to keep an eye on them, but - look, we're here, okay?"

'Here' is a brick house. The lawn is well-tended; the flowers are in full bloom, the paint on the shutters is fresh, not chipped. Birch walks up to the door, knocking twice. He's answered by a tall, well-built woman. She has grease on her overalls and hands.

"Nice to see you again, Birch. Come inside, we have a lot of people over today. Who's the kid?" she says.

"This is someone I picked up. He's one of us," Birch says.

"Well - I guess he can come on in. What's your name, sweetie?"

"It's Damian," Damian says, stepping inside the house after Birch. He closes the door behind them, and the woman leads them to a closet door as Birch details what Pokemon he had brought to sell to the woman. They're all rare - starters, a few pre-evolutions, even an Eevee.

The woman opens the closet door. Unsurprisingly, what's behind it isn't a closet. Rather, it's a lift.

"Well, come on," the woman says. They clamber onto the lift, and a few seconds later find themselves in an underground building. It's large, and about sixty people're packed into the space. Damian can see a few battles going on here and there. There are people trading Pokemon, haggling with merchants - it's a regular marketplace.

"How many of these places are there?" Damian says.

The woman gives him a strange look. "Don't you know?"

"I'm from Sinnoh, actually. We left because of my father. But, you know. Since training's still legal in Sinnoh - old habits die hard. I can't just give it up."

"Ah! In that case, I'll give you a tour, sweetie, and tell you all about Hoenn's trainer circuit. Come with me!"

The woman leads Damian across the large room. "There's at least one of these in each city, usually more. A place the size of Oldale only has one, but places like Rustboro have several. Basically, as you can see, it's a place for trainers to continue on with the old ways. There's even a system in place like the old League. In major cities you have leaders - fight them, get a 'badge', etc. It's as much like the old system as we could make it. Easier that way. You can even still go on a journey - buy some Pokeballs and items, travel the region! We've got some rules in place that are different, though - makes us safer. For one thing, you can only catch the first Pokemon you come across in each area, so the populations stay relatively steady and no one suspects anything. Secondly - if you lose a Pokemon in battle, that's it. We're sorry. We can heal Pokemon but we're nothing like the old centers. Got all that, sweetie?"

"I - yeah, alright. One thing, though, er - why are you telling me all this? How do you know I'm not a cop or a member of the IPT or something?" Damian says.

The woman shrugs. "We all trust Birch. If he brought you Underground, you're allowed in. And honestly, we need to grow. It's not smart, but it's what it is. Besides, this'll be the only base you know the location of. You'll have to find the rest of them yourself. It's part of the challenge," she says, smiling. "Go off, now - have fun."

Damian finds himself wandering towards one of the battles. The combatants are a Pidgey and a Poochyena, clearly both beginners. Their movements are stilted and awkward and jerky - the Pidgey doesn't take advantage of its flying as it should, and the Poochyena seems scared to move from a certain spot. "Tackle, Poochyena," one of the trainers says.

"Dodge it, Pidge! And then use scratch," the other says. The Pokemon do as they're commanded. The Poochyena charges at his opponent, but the Pidgey flitters up into the air, giving a little chirp. It dives toward the Poochyena, talons out. A few seconds later, the Poochyena's ear is in tatters - it gives a whine of pain, and bites down on the Pidgey when the bird flies too close. The bird thrashes about for a minute, then flutters weakly until growing limp in the Poochyena's grasp. The Poochyena drops the Pidgey's corpse onto the ground, panting. Its teeth are stained red. It limps back to its trainer, who pats it on the head and returns it, then looking towards the other trainer.

"Dammit," the Pidgey's trainer says. "What a waste of a capture. Here's your money, then."

Damian's interested. The league in Sinnoh hadn't been nearly as brutal - he supposes since there are so many extra restrictions here. If he takes the journey like he's been planning, he'll be curious to see if he can rough it out in this league.

Since the battle's ended, he walks over to the market portion of the room; he notes Mr. Birch in a corner, harping his wares to passing trainers ("Rare Pokemon here! Ever wanted something easy to raise and powerful? Now's your chance! For a price of just -"). The Eevee and Squirtle have already been sold. Damian checks his pockets. He has a little money on him, and he finds a stand selling Pokeballs and other basic items. He buys a backpack, five Pokeballs, and a few potions and other status-healing items.

He walks around for a bit, finding the woman who had taken him down here. "Thanks for showing me this place. Could you show me the way out?"

"Just go up the lift, sweetie; exactly the way you came in," she says vaguely.

Damian leaves, his new backpack slung across a shoulder. He clutches Toro's ball for a few seconds - the metal has grown warm, almost uncomfortably so. "Alright, buddy," he says. "I guess it's time for a challenge."


End file.
